


December 7th

by AtoTheBean



Series: MI6 Cafe Anon Prompt Gift Exchange [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Gen, MI6 Cafe Anon Prompt Gift Exchange, Pre-Relationship, but a nice day, it's been a blood awful week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: For the MI6 Cafe Anon Prompt Gift Exchange.  Prompt: After a stressful week, Eve (or Bond, Q, or any other Bond character!) actually manages to have a brilliant day off
Relationships: James Bond & Q
Series: MI6 Cafe Anon Prompt Gift Exchange [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564834
Comments: 28
Kudos: 77
Collections: MI6 Cafe Collections, Mi6 Cafe Prompt Fills





	December 7th

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this Fest style (i.e. quickly and without much prep) but did have the lovely @midrashic beta for me and find my (NUMEROUS) typos. Many thanks.

He can’t believe it’s already December 7th. Seriously, how the fuck had that happened? Oh right, week from hell. Granted, it’s only a few minutes into December 7th, but the fact remains.

He falters three times with the code to the door before finally gaining entrance to the flat. It’s cold. And dark. And the cats are _quite_ unhappy with him. 

He’s too tired to eat. Too tired to bother with the heat. He feeds the cats and falls into bed.

He’s awakened eight hours later by pale sun streaming across his face, feeling much better than he had the night before. He promptly turns off his mobile and rolls over.

Hours later, he wakes again, stretching like a cat. And is greeted by actual cats meowing their discontent.

“But I just fed you!” he protests. 

They are unrelenting. “Alright, alright,” he says, kicking off the covers. “It’s high time I’m up… I imagine. What the hell time do you suppose it—”

He stops as he enters the sitting room. “Did it snow overnight?” he asks as he looks out the window.

The cats don’t have a good answer.

“Well. I suppose a motorbike ride in the country is out of the question, then. Hmmm. That’s vexing. What am I to do with myself?”

They still have no answers. Cats. Bloody awful planners.

He showers and dresses and considers what the cats seem to have planned for him — sitting on the sofa and petting them more or less indefinitely — but decides that if his first day off in December is actually going to look like a fucking Christmas card, he should go out in it. Even if it’s cold. Even if he hates shopping and crowds. He already feels behind in his preparations for the holidays and doesn’t need that stress added to the frankly ridiculous stress of work.

His first stop is his usual cafe for strong tea, his woolen gloves barely able to keep the heat of the paper cup from scorching his hand. He’s hungry, but the scones at his shop don’t look fresh. He sips at his tea as he strolls down the lane, watching the shops come to life when the steam isn’t fogging his glasses. He’s got the shoulder strap of an attache draped diagonally across his chest over his coat, in case he finds something to buy while he’s out for his walk. He still hasn’t given gift purchases _any_ thought, but one never knows…

The crunch of the snow under his feet is satisfying, but he’s pleased that the storm seems to have blown itself out, and blue sky is peeking through the fluffy clouds. He turns his face up to the sun after days of being trapped in his underground lair, and feels the stress of the week slipping away with every step. Then rounds the corner and sees Bermondsey Square with rows and rows of marquees, and actually feels excited.

He’d forgotten that the Christmas Market was today. And he’s accidentally arrived just as it’s opening, so things aren’t picked over yet.

He’s going to need a bigger bag.

He stops first at an artisanal bakery where mini-mince pies decorated with stars have just come out of the oven, buying one to eat now, and one wrapped tightly in paper to keep in his pocket for later. Q is very grateful that he didn’t start his day with a stale scone. 

He makes a quick turn around the market while he finishes his breakfast, noting stalls he wants to return to: specialty foods and stocking fillers, artist-made gifts and silly things that would make good White Elephant gifts. He finds something for Eve and hand-made candies he can use for the branch. An artist has used old clock parts to make a holiday “robot” that he can’t resist, despite not knowing quite what he’ll do with it. And his bag is officially full.

Then he finds the stall of handmade pet gifts. 

He actually manages to put a sizeable dent in his Christmas shopping by the time the carolers start, having been forced to purchase an extra bag or three. Normally, carol singers would drive him away, but these ones are in tacky Christmas clothes and sound more like a modern a capella group, with one singer laying down a vocal bass line while the others harmonize above it. Q decides to buy a pasty and cup of warm mulled wine and just sit and listen for a while, laughing out loud when they start a downtempo version of ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’. A crowd has gathered and kids are dancing about and he feels truly content. He puts a tenner in the upturned top hat bedecked with flashing fairy lights.

He makes his way to the “community” section of the market, donating to the food bank and toy drive for kids in foster care. He’s passing the library’s marquee labeled “Free Finals Help,” featuring people dressed as elves helping teens with essays and science homework, when he overhears someone dressed as Mrs. Claus saying, “Sorry, love. We don’t have someone specializing in higher maths at the moment. You can try the library on Monday.”

“That’ll be too late,” the lad complains.

Q only hesitates a moment before asking, “What are you struggling with?”

They both turn, startled. But the lad holds his textbook out. Calculus. It’s been a while, but… “I can try to help,” he tells the woman.

She grins. “Get this man an elf hat!” she calls out, finding a bare corner of table for Q to work at. 

One of his biggest issues with being Q is that he no longer has time to give back to his community. He’s giving back to all of Britain, of course, but the personal connection gets lost. So, he genuinely enjoys the next few hours, helping several students prepare for their maths and physics exams, sipping at the warm cider the volunteers are given for free. The students are so happy when they finally understand some concept they’re struggling with. One actually reaches over and hugs Q when she finally gets it. He smiles and leans back as she packs up her bag, looking to see who might be waiting for him next.

That’s when he notices Bond in the corner of the stall, leaning against the table with the hotplate for the cider, chatting with Mrs. Claus. He glances at Q with a gleam in his eye.

Q quickly removes the elf hat.

Since he doesn’t seem to have another student waiting, Q puts on his coat and gathers his shopping bag, moving toward Mrs. Claus to return the hat. She’s still chatting with Bond, saying, “That’s a very generous donation.”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t offer anything more hands-on, like my friend here,” he replies, nodding to Q.

“Oh, do you know our new maths specialist?”

“We’ve seen each other around,” Bond admits.

“He’s a lifesaver,” she extols.

“You have no idea,” Bond replies conspiratorially.

Turning to Q, she takes the hat and offers a card. “If you ever have time and want to volunteer, you can call me at the library. We’d love to have you join our team.”

“I’m afraid my work schedule won’t allow me to commit to anything reliably. But I enjoyed today. Thank you for letting me help.”

“Happy Christmas, then. And here, take this for your trouble,” she says, handing him a fresh wreath. “All the volunteers are getting them.”

“Thank you,” Q stammers. “I don’t really have any more arms free...”

“I’ll carry it for you,” Bond offers, accepting the wreath and waving farewell to Mrs. Claus as they move away.

“You don’t have to do this,” Q protests. “What are you even doing here?”

“You’re not the only one who needs to start their Christmas shopping,” Bond insists. “I never know when I’m going to be sent out again. Best to get on it early. Bumping into a familiar boffin in an elf hat is just so much icing.”

Q shakes his head. “Bond, I’ve had too nice a day to let you ruin it. Provoke me all you want. I’m immune.”

“I’m not trying to provoke you,” Bond insists. “In fact, once I walk you home with your things, I wouldn’t mind extending your ‘nice day’ with dinner. I find I’m curious about this new side of you.”

Q stops and studies him closely, checking to see if Bond is teasing him as usual. Interestingly, he is not.

“No shop talk. I’m relaxing today.”

“The world will be there to save tomorrow,” James agrees. 

As they fall into step together walking back toward Q’s flat, lights twinkle in the bare trees and the snow starts to fall again. And Q thinks it’s been a very nice day, indeed... with the promise of an interesting evening to boot.


End file.
